The Things I Would Do For You
by Achromos
Summary: Modern AU: The renowned thief "The Dragon" steals the precious jewel Arkenstone out of Erebor Bank's vault. When Thrór dies and Thorin's father Thráin goes missing, will Thorin and his family be able to cope with a crisis, bigger than anything they could ever have prepared for? And how the hell is something like love going to fit into this? (Thorinduil)
1. Chapter 1 Part 1

**Author's Note: **Hello everyone, this is the first story I am posting here on FF, so I'm still trying to figure out how everything works :P This is also my first Fanfiction, though not the first story I ever wrote. It says in the description "Thorinduil" and I wanted to express that there might be some romantic plotline including Thorin and Thranduil (muaha). However I am not a shipper. This might sound confusing, but while I write a "Thorinduil"-Fic, I definitely don't ship Thorin and Thranduil in the books or the upcoming movies.

This story is a modern AU and is loosely based on characters and the story of J.R.R. Tolkien's and Peter Jackson's "The Hobbit", though I would emphasise the _loosely_.

Very well, I hope you enjoy. I always like (constructive) reviews.

**Full Summary: **Thorin Oakenshield, 41, is the grandson of Thrór Oakenshield (founder of one of the largest banks nationwide, the "Erebor Bank") richest man in the small city of Northvale and new lucky owner of the largest diamond in the world, the Arkenstone. It is not long until the renowned thief "The Dragon" steals the precious jewel out of E.B.'s vault. When Thrór dies and Thorin's father Thráin goes missing, will Thorin and his family (consisting of brother Frerin, sister Dís, brother-in-law Kûrin and 15-year old twin-nephews Fíli and Kíli) be able to cope with a crisis, bigger than anything they could ever have prepared for?

Thranduil Greenleaf is the 36-year old single father of a 16-year old teenager, Legolas, and ex-pianist and background-vocalist. Money is scarce; he works shifts as cleaner at E.B. HQ and as vendor in the local grocery store. He would do anything to enable his son to go to university and live a better life than he ever could. What if the opportunity arose to make quick money?

Also featuring Reverend Saruman, Mayor Galadriel van Laurien, police officer Bard Bowman, Principal Elrond Rivendell and middle-aged school-librarian Bilbo Baggins. And how the hell is something like love going to fit into this?

**Chapter One, Part One**

_Thorin_

It had been a long, exhausting day at _Erebor Bank_'s HQ, and Thorin wanted nothing more than to sit in his favourite wing chair at home, have a glass of Scotch and a smoke. Everyone else had long gone home and it was almost midnight, so Thorin didn't really expect anyone else to be in the building. But when he suddenly heard someone whistle quite skilfully, he almost dropped the documents he was carrying. Whoever it was, he was in the main conference room, and Thorin wanted to know what that somebody was doing there.

The whistling made way to even more skilled singing, and now Thorin really wanted to know who it was. He was quite sure he didn't know anyone who could sing so well. Frowning he opened the door to the conference room and stopped dead, as did the man inside. The blonde quickly removed his headphones and stood like a child being caught at stealing sweets from the kitchen.

"Good evening, Mr Oakenshield, sir," the cleaner said and clutched his broom like a safety pole.

"Good evening." Thorin adjusted his grip on the documents in his hands.

"Sorry sir, I'll be gone in a second." He reached for his other tools, ponytail whipping, but Thorin made a negating sound and stepped forward, one hand raised.

"No, no, I should be the one apologising. I was curious about who would be around so late. I am sorry if I disturbed you, Mr …?"

The man looked at him with large blue eyes, a strand of flaxen hair dangling in front of his face.

"Greenleaf, sir. Thranduil Greenleaf."

Thorin frowned. The name sounded familiar.

"Do we …?"

"Yeah. My son is at the same High School as your nephews." Thranduil's voice suddenly sounded stiff.

"Ah." Thorin tried to remember that son's name, but couldn't. Actually, he just realised that he couldn't name any of his nephews' school comrades.

"Is there anything else I can do for you, sir?" Now the blonde's voice practically dripped with sarcasm, and Thorin wondered what could have caused such a hostile attitude.

"No. Again, I'm sorry."

"Good night, then."

Thorin opened his mouth to comment something about the rude dismissal, from a cleaner no less, but Thranduil already wore his headphones again and scrubbed the floor rather violently.

"To you too?"

Thorin clutched his documents and left the conference room, but he didn't hear any singing or whistling again, and this fact disturbed him more than he would ever have admitted to anyone.

* * *

_Thranduil_

He quietly set down his bag of changing clothes and frowned in dismay, when he saw the light coming from the living room. When he turned around the corner, he saw his son sitting on the sofa, reading a book.

"Legolas, I told you not to wait up for me," he said softly and sat beside the teenager.

"I hate it when you work late shifts," the boy said, pushed back his blond hair and set down his book. "And besides, I really need to finish this book. We're going to write a test about it in two days."

Thranduil sighed and patted his son's knee.

"You should go to bed. It won't do any good to read any more tonight. Sleep is more important."

"Says the man who works until midnight and gets up at six," Legolas teased.

"Says your dad, you insolent little brat!" Thranduil laughed and tickled the boy.

"Okay, okay, I'm going! I yield!"

"Brush your teeth," Thranduil shouted after him, but Legolas answered that he already had. "Okay, good night, then."

"Night, dad."

Thranduil leaned back on the sofa and pulled the book closer that Legolas had been reading. _Pride and Prejudice_, by Jane Austen. No wonder the boy hadn't read it until the deadline came too near to deny it; he hated love stories.

Like a magnet drawn to metal, his gaze wandered to the piano and the photographs on the wall above it. He wondered, what sort of a story his life would be, if it was a novel.

_Certainly not a comedy_, he thought and rubbed his burning eyes. A quick look on his wristwatch told him it was one o'clock in the morning, and he knew that he had early shift in the grocery store tomorrow – or rather today.

_I should take my own advice and go to bed._

He threw his clothes into the laundry basket, put on his pyjamas and brushed his teeth before checking in on Legolas. He couldn't help but smile at the boy, _his_ boy, safely tucked under the sheets and sleeping soundly. For a second he wondered how their lives would look like if a certain night almost fifteen years ago hadn't ended in such a tragic way. But then, he thought, no one could turn time back and all that was left to do was live with the consequences, no matter how hard they might be.

Thranduil gently closed the door to his son's bedroom and went to sleep. It only felt like seconds, before the alarm clock tore him from peaceful slumber and everyday life had him back in its choking grip.

* * *

_Legolas_

As usual, breakfast practically already waited for him when he got up. He only had to put bread into the toaster, pour the orange juice into the glass and wait for the toast to pop out, ready to be eaten by a very hungry, still ridiculously fast growing teenager. It was in such moments, when Legolas missed his dad, because he felt the love of his parent in every bite of crunchy toast and every sip of juice – not to forget the little note that said '_Love you, my insolent little brat, xx dad_'. He sometimes envied the other kids at school for their perfect families, where mom and dad would sit with them during breakfast, read the paper and drink coffee. But his dad was already working his shift, they couldn't afford to subscribe to a newspaper, and Thranduil was very strict with anything that was even slightly 'enhancing', as he put it. Given his dad's past with drugs, Legolas was only too happy to comply with that rule.

He looked at the clock on the wall of the kitchen and went to change into a pair of jeans and a t-shirt, before checking his backpack, cursing, and retrieving _Pride and Prejudice_ from the sofa in the living room. He had to laugh, when he found another note from his father: _Spoiler alert! Elizabeth and Darcy are going to fall in love ;-)_

Legolas closed the front door and opened the garage. They didn't have a car, so the only things inside were some cardboard boxes with old stuff and two bikes. One of them was already gone, so Legolas took the other and closed the garage again behind him.

He loved driving through the streets of Northvale, the small city they were living in; he loved the feeling of the cool, fresh morning air on his skin. It was late spring and the gardens on both sides of the street were in full bloom. With a little regret he thought about their own garden, where only grass and a very old apple tree grew.

Soon, he reached his school. The place was already buzzing with students and Legolas had to squeeze his bike between two others.

"Morning, sunshine!"

Legolas turned with a grin and embraced the small figure in front of him. Her copper red hair tickled his chin.

"Hi, Tauriel."

"Mom says hi, too. She says she's really glad your pa took that night shift yesterday at E.B. She's doing them all the time, you know, and lately it's wearing her down."

"No problem, I suppose" Legolas said shrugging.

They entered the building and slowly made their way through the crowds of students to their classroom. Tauriel made a gagging sound, when she saw a blond and brunet head at the back of the room.

"God, how I hate the Oakenshits," she whispered to Legolas and he only barely contained a laugh. But before they could take their seats, the two heads jerked up, a mean grin on their faces.

"Look at the Foster-Foster-kid and Green Stuffs," they said in eerie unison.

"Yeah, no shit, Oakenshit," Tauriel shouted back and went around the tables with long strides, fists clenched at her sides. Just when she raised them to probably punch Fíli and Kíli Oakenshield, Mr Greyson's gentle voice called: "Violence is never the answer, Tauriel Foster."

The girl turned around, face almost as red as her hair.

"Good morning, Mr Greyson," the class called, and the elderly teacher stroked his long, grey beard with a knowing smile.

"Well, well. Please take your seat, Miss Foster, so we can begin."

Legolas patted Tauriel's hand when she sat, but then they concentrated on Mr Greyson and his monologue about the Second World War, making notes every few words.


	2. Chapter 1 Part 2

**Author's Note: **Hey guys, a few people actually clicked on this story and I even got a Follow! Yay! I know the first part wasn't really that capturing, and I'm so happy apparently even a few people at least looked at it, I decided to already upload the next part. This story is going to take a while, and hopefully I will keep up the motivation to actually finish it. Of course it would help to receive reviews and likes :P

As always, the characters and the story are loosely based on J.R.R. Tolkien's and Peter Jackson's works, meaning "The Hobbit".

Thanks, and enjoy!

**Chapter One, Part Two**

_Thranduil_

He hummed a catching tune while packing jars of slimy-yucky _something_ onto shelves and carefully stepped onto the ladder to reach the top shelf. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Fat Maggie spinning on her chair behind the counter. It was early in the morning and no one had entered the store yet. Thranduil liked those hours most, when trashy music coming out of the speakers overhead was the only noise and the neon light inside was brighter than the sunlight outside. No one would bother him with stupid questions or look at him like he was an alien.

"Ahem."

Thranduil almost fell from the ladder, grabbed the shelf at the very last moment, but sent a jar of goo on its way down instead. The glass broke with a loud noise and he looked incredulously at the contents of it, spread all over the floor and a pair of black leather shoes that were certainly perfectly polished before the slime landed on them.

"_God_, no," he moaned, when he saw Thorin Oakenshield stare at him with utter disbelief.

"Sorry to disappoint, but I'm not God," the other man said quite calmly, though his blue eyes betrayed his shock.

"I-I'll get a … just the … I'll be right back."

Thranduil hurried away, quickly shaking his head in Maggie's direction, when her head popped up behind a shelf. He ran back with some rags, a bucket of water and a broom, and he mopped up the slimy mess while murmuring apologising words.

"I shouldn't have startled you. Again," Thorin said and smiled weakly.

"Well, at least I know how to clean," Thranduil sighed and pushed back his bangs which had fallen out of their tight knot. He looked at Thorin again, noticing that the man – despite posh suit, tie, perfectly trimmed beard and formerly polished shoes – looked somewhat nervous and embarrassed.

"Sorry. Again. I just recognised you and … Well, I thought I'd say hello."

"Hello, then."

"Um …" Thorin scratched his beard, and Thranduil had to fight not to laugh at the powerful and rich man in front of him, alienated by a conversation with a cleaner and shopkeeper. "You said your son goes to the same High School as my nephews? What's his name?"

"Legolas."

"Ah. Um, I will ask them if they know him."

"Oh, they definitely know each other," Thranduil snorted.

"How so?" Now Thorin looked determined. "Did they do something? I wasn't informed."

"Oh, no, no. It's, uh, it's nothing …" Thranduil scoffed the floor with his shoes.

"There is something, but you won't tell me, right?" Thorin sighed.

"It's not my place to tell you."

They stared at each other for a moment, sky blue eyes meeting icy blue ones.

"Well," Thorin cleared his throat, "I'll be on my way, then."

"Good day, sir."

Thranduil pointedly turned his back on the other man and went to put away the cleaning utensils. When he came back he could hear the tiny bell above the door jingling. He looked at Fat Maggie, who just shook her head.

"Rich people," she sighed and spun on her chair.

* * *

_Legolas_

He was exhausted after those long hours of school. Lunch had been a torture, with the Oakenshield-twins hovering above him and Tauriel like nasty storm clouds. Their constant chatter and teasing wore down on his nerves and by the end of the day Tauriel had been reprimanded three times and Legolas felt like going mad.

"Freedom!" Tauriel groaned and half-hugged him. They made their way over to the bike park. But there the twins already waited for them.

"Look who it is, Kee," Fíli said to his dark-haired brother.

"Yeah, Fee, it's the Foster-kid and Salad Face."

They sniggered and jut their elbows out when Legolas and Tauriel passed them. Tauriel growled, but Legolas took her arm.

"They're not worth it, El. Leave them be."

"Ooh, Greenstuffs is a tiny baby, too afraid to fight for his girlfriend!" Kíli jeered.

Suddenly a sharp whistle startled them all and they jerked their heads around to look at Thranduil coming at them with is most intimidating 'Don't touch my son'-face. Legolas silently grinned.

"Do you have a problem?" Thranduil growled and got into Kíli's face.

"Nope," Fíli answered for his twin. "We were just leaving. Come, Kee."

Thranduil, Legolas and Tauriel looked after the two Oakenshields, and the two teenagers broke into hooting laughter when the twins were out of sight.

"Awesome timing, dad," Legolas said and patted his father's shoulder.

"Don't count on me being always here to help." Thranduil looked at them with a strange frown on his face, before smiling and accompanying them on their way home. Legolas knew that his dad loved him, but sometimes he felt like he somehow restrained him, kept his father back from things people his age should be doing instead of helping out their sons at High School. Thranduil was very young to be the parent of a teenage kid – only 36 – and he looked the part, too. With black boots, slightly torn jeans, leather jacket and long, always all-over-the-place hair he looked like an older brother gone wild rather than a responsible parent. But he was, and he protected Legolas with the ferocity of a lion defending his cub. Sometimes Legolas wondered what his mother had been like, but she had died in a car accident almost fifteen years ago, and the only thing left of her was a faded photograph of her and Thranduil, because his dad never talked about her. He wondered if his birth and the death of his mother were the things that had pushed Thranduil away from his artistic path as pianist and vocalist, but then he felt silly and stopped thinking about it. His dad was the strongest person he knew.

_If he could still be an artist, then he would_, Legolas thought and affectionately poked his dad's shoulder with his head.

They were walking past the grocery store and Thranduil went to retrieve his bike and a shopping bag, before he whistled and waved through the window at Maggie, who was as always sitting on her spinning chair. The plump woman grinned and blew him a kiss.

"You know that she has a serious crush on you, don't you?" Legolas mocked. "Just don't encourage her any more. I don't want you to kiss her!"

"I would never do that, boy." Thranduil laughed and ruffled his son's hair, before looking over his head at Tauriel. "How was school?"

"Don't even ask," the two teenagers moaned in unison.

"The Oakenshields?" Thranduil asked.

"Yeah."

"They always provoke me," Tauriel growled. "I can't help but get aggressive."

"Perhaps they tease you because they like you," Thranduil said softly.

"What? Never!" The girl's voice shot up three octaves.

"Well, I always used to tease Legolas' mother until she would get at me. She even punched me once," Thranduil murmured, and the three of them laughed, until Legolas saw his father's expression harden into something entirely else. He could never read his dad's face when he talked about Legolas' mother. Was it grief? Hurt? Anger? Fear? It made no sense at all.

They had reached the crossroad where Tauriel had to go left and Legolas and his dad had to go straight ahead.

"See you tomorrow," Legolas said and hugged his friend.

"Damn, I still need to finish that bloody book," she cursed, but smiled and pecked a kiss on his cheek, before waving at his dad. "Bye Mr Greenleaf."

"Greet your mom and dad from me."

"I will."

They waved after the red-haired, hot-headed girl and then walked along. Thranduil placed one arm around his son's shoulders and shifted the shopping bag on his other shoulder.

"What are we going to have for dinner?" Legolas asked, eyeing the bag. He always loved whatever his dad cooked for him, but he even loved it more to watch him cook it. It was the only time of the day – or night – when Thranduil seemed to loosen himself up and dance around the kitchen. Sometimes he would even sing.

"Well, that's going to be a surprise." Thranduil grinned, and at this very moment, Legolas felt like the happiest teenager in the world.

* * *

_Thorin_

He had come home a bit early, because he had promised his sister Dís to eat dinner with them. She had asked in an almost desperate manner and – confused – he had agreed. Now he knew why Dís had wanted him there.

They were sitting at the table, which was beautifully decorated with flowers, covered by a white tablecloth, the dishes were porcelain and the silverware was actual silver. They had been served the most tender filet Thorin ever remembered having, flavourful vegetables and perfectly _al dente _pasta. And his nephews Fíli and Kíli ruined the perfect dinner with their pubertal behaviour.

During the first course, Thorin had been too shocked to do or say anything, but when the main course had been served and Dís looked at him with pleading eyes, he brought down his fists on the table. All heads jerked around.

"Fíli!" he boomed. "Kíli! This is a most disrespectful behaviour you are displaying. I will not tolerate any other rude gestures, nor will I tolerate your filthy vocabulary. If you want to act out on your pubertal instincts, please do so in the privacy of your own rooms and not in front of adults while they are trying to enjoy their meals."

Dís sighed, but looked at her sons with a reprimanding stare. Her husband was – as usual – not present, but their brother Frerin was. Remembering Frerin's own sometimes pubertal seeming behaviour, Thorin looked at him with a sharp gaze. Frerin didn't chastise their nephews, but at least he wasn't laughing either. Finally, Thorin turned his look at Fíli and Kíli. The twins were exchanging rather shocked looks.

"Do you understand me?" Thorin asked.

"Yes, Uncle." They nodded and lowered their gazes.

"Please continue, then."

While Thorin pierced a broccoli on his fork, he suddenly remembered his morning conversation.

_"There is something, but you won't tell me, right?"_

_"It's not my place to tell you."_

"Do you know a boy named Legolas?" he asked innocently. When his nephews didn't answer immediately, he looked up to read their faces. They seemed suspicious.

"Why are you asking?" Fíli asked.

"Oh, I just happened to meet his father, Thranduil." Thorin smiled sweetly and chewed his broccoli. "He mentioned you knew his son. Are you friends, then? You could ask him over. I would like to meet him. In fact, I don't think that I know any of your friends at school."

Now the twins blanched.

"We don't really know him," Kíli said quickly.

"Yeah, I mean, we know who he is and such, but, uh, we're not close friends or anything," Fíli added.

"Really?" Thorin raised his eyebrows. "It seemed like it. Huh … How curious. He said you knew each other quite well."

Fíli and Kíli looked really uncomfortable right now, exchanging looks and shifting on their seats. Thorin nodded to Dís, when they couldn't see him.

"Sweethearts, you can tell us," she said kindly.

"Are you alright, Fíli?" Frerin jumped in now and touched his nephew's forehead. "You seem to be sweating, but I don't think you have a temperature."

"Okay, okay!" Kíli blurted out. "He's not our friend, that's true. But it might be that- …"

"Well, sometimes we tease him," Fíli cut him short.

"Yes, him and Tauriel."

"And maybe- …"

"… only maybe we …"

"… perhaps overstepped a little."

"We have been called to Principal Rivendell's office once."

"Or maybe twice."

The twins exchanged a look and breathed out, faces flushed.

"But no one's ever been hurt physically?" Thorin asked.

"Well, once … Once we pushed Legolas."

"And he fell."

"He sprained his wrist."

Now it was Thorin's, Frerin's and Dís' turn to exchange looks.

"Why didn't we hear about this? Why did he Principal not inform us?" the mother of the twins exclaimed.

"Well, he called the day it happened."

"But we were already home then."

"And Nadia picked up the phone."

"We told her to, and to pose as you, mom."

"So the Principal thinks he told you, but he didn't."

"Because he told Nadia."

Thorin sighed heavily and rubbed the bridge of his nose. He saw Dís bristling and groping for words, but to his surprise it was Frerin who said: "Apologise to the boy, if you haven't already. And then, for God's sake, stop behaving like first graders! You are almost sixteen now – almost adults. I, and surely your parents and most certainly Thorin, too, will expect better of you in the future."

"Yes, Uncle."

Content with what Frerin said, Thorin nodded and continued to eat his meal. Today had been a really good day. His success with his nephews was not the only good thing that had happened. Early this morning Thorin and his father Thráin had been able to outbid everyone on the largest diamond in the world: the Arkenstone.

He smiled to himself. Such a jewel. Such a family. He really was the richest man in the city, if not the whole world.


	3. Chapter 1 Part 3

**Author's Note: **It's Friday again! "The Things I Would Do For You" is officially one week old. Wow, I'm getting views every day and I hope that's a sign that people actually like it? If so, a follow or a tiny review would help ;) Haha ... Anyway, we're still in Chapter One (like in traditional, ancient Greek dramas the first Act - I'm trying to time it so that we're going to have 5 Chapters in the end), it's still introducing and plotbuilding here, so not that much drama or action. I hope you enjoy anyway.

Thanks!

* * *

**Chapter One, Part Three**

_Tauriel_

"Mom? Dad? I'm home!" she called and threw her backpack into the next corner. Her shoes flew after it, followed by her sweater.

"Hello darling." Tauriel's mother, Ingrid, embraced her daughter and kissed her forehead.

"Are you on your way out?" she asked, looking at her mother's E.B.-uniform. "Legolas' dad asked me to greet you. And dad. Where is he?" Tauriel looked around her mother, but she couldn't hear anyone rummage through the kitchen as he usually would at this time.

"Thank you. Yes, I have another night shift. And your dad had to take care of something at the office, but he will be home shortly." Ingrid kissed her again. "Have a nice evening, you two."

"Bye."

Tauriel sighed and jumped onto the sofa in the living room. She turned on the TV and grabbed for the programme, but got the newspaper instead. The _Northvale Daily_ wasn't her usual read, but the headline caught her eye: _OAKENSHIELD FAMILY NOW OWNS THE "ARKENSTONE"_.What was that all about? She skimmed through the article and snorted. The wealthy ones. Bashing each other's heads in for a shiny stone. Tauriel had most certainly a happier life than the two Oakenshits in school.

While she flipped through the TV channels, Tauriel thought that she didn't need anything else but her friends, meaning Legolas, and her parents to be happy. And that was why she was so upset about the Oakenshits' jokes about her name – because they weren't really jokes about her name. She was Tauriel Foster, but the Fosters weren't her biological parents. They had adopted Tauriel when she was a baby. She _was_ the Foster-Foster-kid.

Irritated, Tauriel turned the TV off again and leaned back on the sofa. She wondered where her dad was and considered ordering pizza, just when she heard the front door being opened.

"Dad!" she called and ran to greet him at the door, but he was on the phone, talking to someone, so he only waved at her.

"Yes. Of course. I will look into it the first thing in the morning. Yes. Thank you. See you tomorrow." Marcus sighed and finally embraced his daughter. "Hello sweetheart. How was your day?"

"It was okay. And yours?"

"That whole diamond-business almost blew off our heads." He kissed her cheek. "The _Northvale Daily _is trying to keep the story exclusive – but of course the big papers are already standing on our doorstep. With crazy sums of money no less."

"Money, money, money," Tauriel sighed and followed her dad into the kitchen. "It's always about money, isn't it?"

"I'm afraid it is."

Marcus looked around the kitchen, until his gaze fell on Tauriel. He grinned.

"Pizza delivery?"

She grinned, too.

* * *

_Thorin_

He thanked his driver and made his way over to E.B. HQ. Thorin always thought that the large forecourt in front of the tall glass building was slightly 'too much', given that a fountain shot water almost ten feet high and an unimaginably expensive piece of art stood behind it. But it had been his father Thráin's idea, and the man would be CEO for hopefully another few years.

Thorin entered the building and greeted the security guards with a smile and a nod. The receptionists greeted him cheerfully and he answered in kind. When he saw someone sweep the granite floor, he looked if it was Thranduil, but the cleaner had dark hair.

_He probably works at the grocery store again this morning_, he thought and took the lift. Two men and a woman were inside already and greeted him.

"Good morning," he replied and pressed the button to the top level.

The lift stopped on nearly every storey, letting people in and out, until Thorin was the only one left. The top level was, as indicated, only for the top of the company. His office was here, his father's, and even his grandfather's, though he never came – he was quite old already. Of course there were others, too. Members of the committee, mostly. Thorin checked on his father's office, but he wasn't there. Thráin didn't even live in the same house as his children and grandchildren anymore, so Thorin didn't see him that often. Which was just right for him.

Thorin's secretary Cameneth handed him a short list, when he entered his office.

"Morning, sir," she said. "This is the schedule for today. We have about an hour to get up to date about yesterday's dealings after you left – then we have the interview with the _Northvale Daily_. Here a list of key words that should be avoided, mostly the same as ever … After that you are going to have lunch with your grandfather – he requested this. I will call for your driver to bring you. This afternoon we have this week's committee session. And then another short interview with _Central State News_."

"Thank you, Cameneth. I will be at my desk, if anyone calls."

Thorin first skimmed through the numbers of yesterday's work. _Erebor Bank_ had gained slightly, but he assumed that today's statistics would look much greater. The news about their acquisition of the Arkenstone had been the headliner of many papers – it would improve the trust in them and make them even more known. And that was what Thorin was here for. He was the unofficial face of E.B., spokesman and mascot.

He sighed and looked at the paper Cameneth had handed him. Key words to be avoided or answered with a "No comment". As usual the members of his family were on it, but there were also political issues and names of politicians. And at the end, in Cameneth's swirly handwriting stood: _Good luck, sir J_

He smiled and rubbed his beard.

_How exactly did it come to this?_, he thought and smoothed his tie down his chest. _How did Thorin Oakenshield, the shy boy from Northvale, get to be spokesman of one of the largest banks nationwide?_

It was family legend, really. His grandfather, Thrór Oakenshield, had started as cashier and slowly worked his way up on the money ladder until he founded the _Erebor Bank_. Thráin Oakenshield, next in line, brought he bank up to its global glory with wit, charm and a sixth sense for the marked. And Thorin dreaded the day when it would be his turn. He was comfortable in his role as second – he couldn't find the ambition in him to even _want_ the seat of CEO, much less hold it. His brother was no relief in that matter: Frerin was only interested in spending money, not in investing or earning it. And the clock was ticking. His father was over 60 years old and even though many directors of many companies worked long after their seventies, Thorin felt a growing pressure.

_You are forty, Thorin_, he heard his father's voice boom in his head. _Where are the grandchildren? Yes, yes, Fíli and Kíli … But they are not _your_ offspring. Would you really break the line of father and son?_

But whenever either Dís or Thráin himself would set him up with women, they lacked a certain spark. He liked them, yes. They were charming and beautiful. Women of taste and money. But what he wanted was spirit. He didn't want curves – he wanted a melodious laugh. He didn't want a woman for her surname – he wanted a woman for her mind and her wit. But somehow no one seemed to understand that, and so he was, at 41, still unmarried.

Thorin sighed. He had let his thoughts slip, and he still wasn't prepared for that damn interview. Well, he would answer the questions as best as he could, as always. No one could ask more of him.

* * *

_Thranduil_

He wished Legolas a pleasant evening with _Pride and Prejudice_, which earned him a curse and a hug, before taking his bike out of the garage and driving through darkness and empty streets to the _Erebor Bank_ building. The security guy let him in and he greeted him.

"Hey, George. Nice evening, huh?"

"Yeah, I'd rather be home though," the large man answered and shrugged.

"True." Thranduil waved and made his way to the employees' lockers. Someone had attached a slip of paper to his locker. He removed it with a sigh, without even looking at it. Always those damn ads. He changed his shoes and his clothes, took his music player and headphones, before activating his attendance recorder with his key and taking out his cleaning utensils. Looking at the timetable he saw that he was scheduled on the top level again, so he took the lift and allowed himself a moment of peace.

Working at the grocery store with Maggie was always wearisome. Not one second of calm; there were always shouting, irritated, stressed people around. In comparison, working night shifts at E.B. was almost holiday.

He got off the lift and went left. To his surprise, there was still light in one of the offices. He was curious, so he read the name tag at the door: _Thorin Oakenshield, chairman of the committee. _Of course.

Thranduil cleaned each of the offices with the routine only known to those who have the experience of years. One office after the other, always the same, rhythmic and hypnotic movements. He didn't even think anymore, he didn't even hear the music he was listening to anymore – and he didn't notice he was humming along.

After he had finished cleaning the conference room and all the offices, except for Thorin's, he mopped up the corridor. And when that was done as well, he was at a loss.

He had worked so fast, it was another hour until his shift was over, and still light burned in Thorin Oakenshield's office, which he obviously hadn't cleaned yet. With a sigh he knocked at the door, and when no answer came, he opened it cautiously.

"Hello?"

The small foyer and the secretary's desk were empty, so he took the chance and vacuumed the carpet. When he was finished, he knocked at the office door. Again, no answer came. He turned the doorknob and entered.

Thorin Oakenshield was sitting at his desk, head resting on his arms, and snored softly.

Thrandui had to hold back a giggle, when he saw this, but apparently the snorting noise that escaped him instead had been enough to wake the other man, for he grunted and jerked up.

"What? Where?" Sluggishly blinking, he looked around, until his gaze fell on Thranduil and his eyes widened. "Tell me this is a joke."

"This is a joke."

Now Thorin looked baffled.

"Excuse me?"

"You told me to tell you that this is a joke. So I told you." Thranduil grinned and leaned against the doorframe.

"Oh." Thorin stretched and ran his hands through his ruffled hair. "Damn, past eleven. What are you doing here so late again?"

"Working." He motioned at his tools behind him. "Cleaning. Which I should be doing here as well. So …"

"Are you dismissing me again?" Thorin laughed, but stood and fought to get into the sleeves of his jacket. With a heavy sigh, Thranduil stepped up behind him and helped him.

"There you go."

"Thank you."

"No problem."

For a moment a not so comfortable silence – but not very uncomfortable either – stretched between them.

"You know, I talked to my nephews. I hope they will behave better in the future," Thorin said seriously, looking at his desk, like it was the most interesting thing.

"Thank you." Now it was Thranduil's turn to be surprised. "You didn't have to."

"Of course I had to." The other man picked up his suitcase and cleared his throat. "You can … always come to me … if my nephews do something again. Last time they tricked the Principal, so we didn't learn about it. I would rather trust your honesty than theirs."

Thranduil arched his eyebrows.

"Of course. I will … remember your offer."

"Good night, then."

"Good night, sir."

Thorin was already at his door, when he turned again.

"Oh, and Thranduil? You can call me Thorin."

Before he could reply anything, the other was already gone.


	4. Chapter 1 Part 4

**Author's Note: It's Upload-Friday again. **Wow! After I posted the third Part of Chapter One, views skyrocketed and I even got a review. Thank you so much! I'm absolutely thrilled :D

At the end of this Part we will have reached the end of Chapter One. I hope you liked it so far.

**Before starting to read** you might want to find the "Mondscheinsonate, First Movement" by Ludwig van Beethoven and "Rondo Alla Turca" by W.A. Mozart on YouTube or wherever you listen to music; it would help if you knew the atmosphere of the pieces before reading the end of this Part. For later Parts there will be more classical music recommendations. You don't have to do it, of course.

Enjoy!

* * *

**Chapter One, Part Four**

_Legolas_

He knew something was wrong, when Fíli and Kíli didn't greet him and Tauriel as usual. They didn't even look when they entered the classroom. He and Tauriel exchanged looks, shrugged and sat.

Later, during one of the breaks, the twins walked past them and he and Tauriel steeled themselves. But they only wished them a good morning and even smiled.

"Las?" Tauriel whispered to him. "I think they're sick."

Legolas laughed.

"Come on, let us cherish those moments of peace, El. We can ask about the Why later."

After the break they were occupied with the Literature test about _Pride and Prejudice_, so they had no time to think about the twins' suddenly changed behaviour. And afterwards, Legolas and Tauriel were complaining about the hard questions, while eating their lunch.

"Hey."

They looked up and grimaced, when they saw Fíli and Kíli.

"What do you want?" Tauriel asked sharply. "What foul game are you playing?"

"We're sorry," Fíli said and shrugged.

"For teasing you."

"And for your wrist."

"That was months ago," Legolas blurted.

"Yeah, but we know that we went too far with that."

"So we're apologising."

"Won't happen again."

Tauriel and Legolas exchanged a look.

"Did the Principal summon you again or what?" Tauriel eyed the twins suspiciously.

"No."

"Thorin scolded us."

Fíli kicked his brother's shin at the last comment and hissed something, which made Kíli go pale despite his usually darker complexion.

"So …" Legolas licked his lips. "You're not going to harass us anymore? That would be amazing."

Fíli and Kíli looked at each other and nodded.

"No more harassing."

"Oakenshield-promise."

Tauriel snorted.

"I wonder just what that promise is worth."

"You don't believe us?" Kíli said in disbelief.

"Uh, let me see… _No_? How could we, after all you did. We asked you thousands of times to stop, yet you never did. Principal Rivendell even reprimanded you, yet you never stopped." Tauriel leaned back and folded her arms, deep scowl on her face.

"Well, I hope that whatever your uncle told you will make you keepyour promise," Legolas just said.

"Cool."

"That's settled then."

The twins waved and walked away.

"What the hell?" Tauriel looked at Legolas with big, green eyes full of puzzlement.

"Let us just be glad that _anything_ worked."

"For now, yeah," she added incredulously.

"Just don't question anything the Oakenshields do," Legolas sighed and looked at his lunch, which, in the meantime, had certainly gone cold.

* * *

_Thorin_

He had decided to call it a day earlier than usual. Firstly, his interview had been printed in the _Northvale Daily _and to his relief everyone seemed pleased with it. Secondly, the _Erebor Bank_'s shares had shot up on the market. And thirdly, he wanted to pick up his nephews from school. So as not to make too big a fuss he even drove his own car instead of taking the driver and waited in front of the High School for the boys to come out.

He felt like an alien among normal people in his posh suit, leaning against his Jaguar, but the out-of-place-feeling suddenly faded when he saw a familiar face: Thranduil Greenleaf, for once not in uniform, but wearing casual jeans, black boots and leather jacket. Even from this distance he could see that the long, pale blond hair was in disarray, though most of it was bound into a tight ponytail, and despite himself Thorin had to smile. In contrast to him, Thranduil fitted into this scene like a fish into the sea.

"Dad!"

An identically blond head floated through the masses of students getting out of the school, and Thorin looked at the boy. This had to be Legolas, then. The boy had the same long-limbed grace as his father, though he lacked some of the muscle mass that would come, in time, and with maturity.

"Hey." Thranduil embraced his son and they both buried their faces in each others' hair and neck. It was such a natural gesture filled with so much love that Thorin had to look away for a moment. He felt like disturbing their privacy. "How was your day?"

But before Thorin could listen to the boy's answer, he saw Fíli and Kíli approach him warily.

"Uncle," they said in unison.

"How was school?" he asked. They moved to open the car's doors, but found them locked.

"Just let us get home," Fíli moaned and turned away from the Jaguar.

"I asked you something."

"The exam was crap, school was boring, and the people were no fun" Kíli snapped.

"Hey!" Thorin held up a finger and clicked his tongue in dismay. "Don't speak to me like that. I may not be your father, but I am still your uncle. I just asked you how your day was."

The twins looked at him with hooded eyes and he sighed.

"I hope at least you held your promise." He looked at them each, trying to read their faces.

"We apologised and left Legolas and Tauriel alone, just as you asked," Fíli said evenly, but his eyes burned.

"Very good, then. Get in." Thorin unlocked the car, and while the twins scrambled inside, he looked over at Thranduil, who still had his arm around Legolas' shoulder, though the boy was talking to a girl – presumably Tauriel. But Thorin only saw those icy blue eyes, staring at him, assessing him. Finally, a tiny smile tugged at the corners of his mouth and Thorin dared to nod in his direction. While he got into his car, he tried to make sense of the fluttery feeling in his stomach. He started the engine, and his eyes met Thranduil's again, though it should have been impossible for the other man to see him behind the darkened windows. This time he all but grinned.

While he drove two sulking teenagers home, Thorin thought that this smile had made him happier than any gain of _Erebor Bank_'s shares or the Arkenstone ever could.

* * *

_Thranduil_

"You happened to stumble over him … _thrice_ in three days… and he just talked to his nephews because of you? Not to mention that he had been _successful_." Legolas looked at him with large eyes. "Dad, you pulled Thorin Oakenshield's strings like a puppet master."

"Oh, come on, don't exaggerate."

"The richest man in town … listened to _my_ dad!"

Thranduil laughed when his son puffed himself up like a proud mother hen, and ruffled his hair.

"Eat your spaghetti, young man."

"You could have salmon, caviar and Champaign if you just asked him," Legolas mumbled with his mouth full of pasta. "Bat your eyelashes, and the world kneels for you."

"Stop it now. And don't speak with your mouth full."

"Yes, Your Majesty."

Thranduil chuckled and shook his head. He thought about the way Thorin had looked at him: so full of trust and gratitude – while it had been _him_ who did _Thranduil_ a favour.

_I will have to thank him, next time I see him_, he thought.

When they had both finished their plates, Thranduil put the tableware into the dishwasher, cleaned his hands and went into the living room. He heard Legolas follow him almost reverently.

"Come," he beckoned his son to sit beside him on the padded bench in front of the piano. When Legolas sat comfortably, he struck a harmony. "What would you do with that?"

Legolas looked at his father with raised eyebrows.

"You want me to play?"

"Yes. Come on, just try it."

Hesitantly, the boy placed his hands on the keys and started to play. The harmony Thranduil had struck before had been D minor. Legolas, however, slowly changed it to D major, tapping the keys in a light, joyful manner. Now and then his fingers slipped, but the tune he was playing sounded steady. It followed a central motif and Legolas interpreted it in a skilled way, making the tune interesting and dynamic. After a while he turned back to minor harmonies and gently let the song fade.

"Very good."

"But not as good as you," Legolas protested, though the praise and the little exercise had flushed his cheeks.

"You know how hard I had to train to get better. Hours upon hours, every day. And you also know that other things suffered for it." He placed his arm around Legolas' shoulder. "But … You sound cheerful tonight. I gave you a D minor and you made it major. Also, you added some trills. Only the second reprise sounded a bit … wary."

"That's … true." Legolas seemed surprised. "It's really uncanny how you read me by reading my playing."

He just shrugged and placed his hands on the keys, intoning Mozart's _Rondo __Alla Turca_, a very technical but short tune he often used to stretch and warm up his fingers. After he had struck the last notes, he looked at Legolas. This had always been his son's 'hour of wishes', where he could wish for whatever song he wanted. They had gone from Mozart's _Eine kleine Nachtmusik_ to Debussy's _Claire de lune_ and Bach's _Präludium I_, thereby not only expanding Legolas' knowledge of piano masterpieces, but also keeping Thranduil's skills honed. One night a week his son could make a wish.

"Beethoven's first movement of the _Mondscheinsonate_," Legolas eventually whispered.

"That melancholic?" Thranduil asked, but began to play without waiting for an answer.

He closed his eyes and leaned into the music like into the embrace of a long lost lover. As always, when he played something like this, so heavy, so dark, so close to the heart, he couldn't help but draw from the bitterest of all memories. While his fingers danced over the keys, his mind was in New York, 1998. He felt the emptiness of an apartment. He heard the rain softly drumming on the window. The warm, incredibly trustful hands of a child curled around his fingers. A ringing in his ears.

Then the memory shot further back. Mere minutes, just a handful of words, but they would eventually tear apart his life, his heart, his soul like they were nothing. Tears, blood and a door. Nothing left of what they had had. But they only had shadows and lies, didn't they? Nothing but emptiness, where love and compassion should have been. Was death better than indifference? He had decided that it was, and the _Mondscheinsonate _always reminded him of this: Legolas could never know that his mother didn't die in a car accident.


	5. Chapter 2 Part 1

**Author's Note: Upload Friday** and I'm so happy this story gets its views. Hopefully not just views. Do people really read it? Unbelievable. Anyways, the end of the first Chapter was kinda ... a bomb-drop. As I mentioned in one of the earlier posts, I try to stick to the traditional set of Drama with five Acts (some of you might know the Gustav Freytag pyramid?), so in theory this should be Act 2: rising action. *wriggles eyebrows* But I'm not entirely sure that I can keep this monster of a story in five Chapters/Acts of this size. Probably not. But good for you, more to read, lol.

**Warning: **Some swearwords in this Part. But nothing too serious. I think.

Anyways, enjoy and maybe review? Thanks a lot, luv u all!

* * *

**Chapter Two, Part One**

_Thorin_

The shrill ringing of a phone pulled him out of his dreams and flooded his veins with dread. His eyes burned, and he tried to look at his digital alarm clock. 2 am. He rubbed his eyes and groped for his phone.

"Yah?" he mumbled.

"Thorin? Thank God it's you." The voice at the other end of the line sounded hushed and panicked.

"What the hell … _Dad_?"

"Yes, it's me." Thráin cleared his throat. "Thorin, something happened."

"Get to the point. It is 2 am, I'm fucking tired and I don't have time for your shit," Thorin growled. He was tempted to hang up, but for a second he wondered, why his father always irritated him so much. That second was enough for Thráin to continue speaking.

"The Arkenstone is gone."

Silence.

"What?" Thorin blurted.

"You heard right. The diamond is gone."

"Stolen?"

Thráin growled.

"Of course it was stolen, boy! It didn't just disappear into thin air!"

"Did you call the police?"

"Yes."

"And?" Thorin leaned back against the headboard of his large bed.

"Well, there is a note. Wait a moment, I'll read it out loud." Something rustled. "Here. _What was precious to you is now mine. The crown jewel to my dragon hoard. You should be honoured, Oakenshields. _Signed: _The Dragon_."

"But … The Dragon … Isn't that the thief who steals all the art and jewellery," Thorin said dumbly.

"He is. And there never was evidence or a trail to follow. Only those damn notes." He heard Thráin sigh aggressively. "We have to keep this as far away from the media as possible. No statements, no interviews. We need to handle this very delicately. Do you understand?"

"Of course I do." Irritated, Thorin scratched his beard. "Do the others know?"

"Who do you mean? The committee? No. This is an Oakenshield family situation. You can tell Frerin and Dís, while I tell your grandfather. But no one else can know until we give an official statement to the media and the public."

"Very well."

Thráin hanged up on him, and Thorin still felt incredibly tired, but he knew that sleep wouldn't come to him this night. Snippets of sentences passed by his mind: cold and composed, emotional and aggressive, demanding justice … He was the spokesman of the _Erebor Bank_ – he knew exactly who would be the one giving the 'official statement to the media and the public'. And he dreaded it.

He rubbed his face with both hands and sighed. He wasn't going to achieve anything by worrying and sitting in fear. So he climbed out of his bed, grabbed a fleece jacket and pushed his feet into some slippers. What he needed now was a hot cup of coffee.

Oakenshield Manor was a large, lofty building. He never liked the spiral staircases or the marble floor or the thick, red carpets. But it was his home, and there were some places he felt comfortable in. Unfortunately, his bedroom wasn't always one of them. The kitchen however was big and offered everything a hungry Thorin could want.

With a large cup of coffee and a plate with chocolate chip cookies he went into one of the smaller living rooms and turned on the light. He sat into one of the large, soft wing chairs and took a sip. Ah, he already felt better.

"Thorin?"

He turned and looked at Dís' slightly sleep-crumbled face.

"What are you doing here?" he asked and offered her a cookie. She took one without even looking at it.

"I could ask you the same thing. Who called you before?"

"Oh, sorry it woke you up. It was dad."

She nearly choked on her cookie.

"What? Why did he call you in the middle of the night?"

Thorin sighed and set down his coffee cup.

"The Arkenstone was stolen from the vault," he said calmly. Dís coughed again and cursed.

"What are we going to do now?" she whispered.

"Nothing. We need to keep this close to the family. It could be devastating for the bank if word spread about the most precious jewel in the world being stolen from our own vault. There will be official statements, but no one can know about this until then. You know, I know, dad and grandfather know, I will tell Frerin. No one else. Especially not Fíli and Kíli. Oh, and Kûrin is out of the question anyway." Thorin made a waving gesture. "He's not here and the bank doesn't concern him."

Dís looked at her half-eaten cookie like it had been poisoned.

"This is a nightmare," she murmured.

"Don't worry." Thorin placed a hand on his sisters'. "We will handle this. All will be well. At least it's a stolen jewel, and not someone killed or anything like that. People are more precious than a diamond."

She seemed to fight back tears, but she managed a smile and a nod.

"Thank you, Thorin. You're the best big brother anyone could hope for."

_I wouldn't be too sure about that_, he thought, but returned her smile.

* * *

_Bard_

One week into his new post in Northvale, one week of pleasant boredom. And now this shitload.

The police had already searched half of the _Erebor Bank_, forensics were inside the vault, ballistic and explosive experts were examining the lock, trying to find out how The Dragon had entered, stolen the Arkenstone and fled without anyone noticing. Of course, an alarm had been triggered, but by the time the police arrived at E.B. HQ, The Dragon and his prize were long gone.

This was the perfect night for migraines. Rain? Check. Fucking journalists with fucking flashlights? Check. No clue at all? Check. Hysterically shouting rich people? Check.

Bard massaged his temples and approached Thráin Oakenshield, who was just yelling at two poor officers. He was a tall, broad shouldered man with an impressive, sharply cut face and a large nose. Everything from his grey hair to his toes, wrapped in polished leather shoes, demanded attention, and screamed authority.

"Mr Oakenshield?" he said and cringed at the sound of his own voice. The syllables drummed in his skull like too loud Dubstep music.

"Yes." The man looked at him with furiously blazing blue eyes. "Are you the highest ranking officer here?"

"Yes, sir, I- …"

"The police did an awfully good job here," Thráin said calmly. Too calm. Way too calm.

_Please don't shout at me_, Bard moaned inwardly.

"We sent our men immediately when we got the alarm signal, sir. A patrol was even nearby. They were the first on the scene. We were as quick as we could possibly be."

"Not quick enough," Oakenshield hissed and drew himself up to his full height. "This will have consequences Mr …" He squinted and looked at the name on Bard's name badge. "… Bowman. I hold you personally responsible for this catastrophe. Am I clear?"

"Very clear, sir." _Goddamn, how I hate rich snobs._

"And now please confiscate those cameras over there. We don't want anyone to spread rumours. Tell them there will be an official statement from the Oakenshield family on Saturday morning. Exact information about time and location will be announced," Thráin said.

_I am not your lackey_, Bard almost said, but he bit his tongue.

"We can't just confiscate the cameras. _However_," he said a bit louder, when Thráin threatened to cut him off, "we will inform the journalists that all pictures made tonight will have to be deleted. If that pleases you?" When Oakenshield nodded, he looked at the two officers the other had been scolding before and gave them their new task. They didn't look too happy about it.

By now, the headache was pulsing in his eyes, making it hard to even look in the dark. But at least the flashlights disappeared and he didn't have to squint anymore, every time a bright flash lit up the scene.

"Sir, all pictures deleted," one of the officers reported.

"Thank you, uh, Tailor. And Miller. Good job."

Even though Bard had to read their names from their tags, they seemed happy about his praise.

"I will hold you personally responsible, if a photograph still makes its way into any newspaper, TV show or internet blog, _Bard Bowman_. Good night."

And with those words, Thráin Oakenshield finally left the crime scene. As if by magic, Bard's migraine ceased to throb behind his eyes, and he was left with a loathing for the next morning. He already hated the pile of paperwork he was going to have to fill.

_Why did I ever want to be a policeman?_, he thought and laughed dryly, when he remembered. _Ah, yes, exactly. 'You come from a family of police officers'. Let me rephrase: Why did I ever listen to my father?_

The next morning came all too soon, and a pile of papers waited for him like a loyal dog.

* * *

_Thranduil_

He was stacking food again, when Maggie approached him, spinning towards him on her creaking, old office chair.

"Hey, did you hear?" she whispered conspiratorial, looking to both sides, before lowering her voice even further. "Betty told me this morning there was a robbery at E.B. HQ. Apparently, several million dollars are gone. Puff!" She threw up her chubby hands. "Gone without a trace."

"Well, I hope they still have enough money to pay me," he joked and they laughed.

When they fell silent again and Thranduil was stacking up cans of beans, he felt Maggie's gaze on him like a spotlight. She didn't move from her position for several minutes, so he cleared his throat and looked at her. She only grinned.

"Don't you … have something to do?"

"Hm? Oh, actually I don't. But I could help you."

And then something miraculous happened: Fat Maggie stood up from her chair. Thranduil realized that he was probably staring at her with his mouth agape and eyes as big as eggs, but this was simply astonishing. No one he knew had _ever_ seen Fat Maggie _not_ sitting on her old, creaking office chair. It was even rumoured that she slept in the grocery store, and it was true that she had always already been here when he began his shift.

"Well, I offered to help you, but that doesn't mean you don't have to do the piling," she said after a while and he pulled himself together and grabbed a few cans. The pyramid-shaped tower obviously got narrower to the top, so their hands more and more threatened to touch with every level they finished, until it happened. Thranduil jerked back like he had been bitten by a hairy spider.

"You have nice hands," Maggie remarked and smiled sheepishly.

"Uh, oh, thanks?" he mumbled.

She giggled and shook her head. Then she suddenly sobered and took a deep breath.

"You know, I never found the courage, and I probably never will, but now is as good a time as any to tell you that I really like you, Thranduil," she blurted out, and her face reddened. He stared at her for a moment, cans of beans in his hands.

Of course he knew that Maggie fancied him – even Legolas made fun of that fact – but he had thought himself safe from her advances. Mostly because of her really low level of confidence.

He shook himself, blinked a few times and opened his mouth, but he didn't know what to say. He liked Maggie; she was nice and easy company, so he didn't want to hurt her feelings. Not that he made it his business to hurt other people. It would just make days in the store oh so much more uncomfortable and awkward.

"I know," he said then and sighed. "Everyone knows."

"But of course you don't feel that way for me," she laughed bitterly. "I know. Who would like Fat Maggie?"

"It's not that." He bit his lip. "It's just … I haven't been looking for a relationship with anyone since Legolas. I haven't _been_ in a relationship since ... well. It's really nothing personal."

Maggie shrugged and bit her lip.

"Well, had to take the chance."

"But we're still friends, right?" he asked tentatively.

"Of course." She smiled a bit forcedly. After a few seconds she picked up two cans and placed them on the pyramid. "Let's just finish this."

Thranduil swallowed.

"I'm sorry."

"It's not your fault." She looked at him with a slight glimmer in her eyes, as if she was holding back tears, and his heart broke a little. "I shouldn't have said anything."

"Come here," he whispered and drew Maggie into a tight embrace. "You can cry if you want. If there is anything I remember about my father, then it is his favourite saying. Never hold back tears. They are nothing to be ashamed of. _Tears are always right_."

So he held Maggie while she cried out her lost hope, and they both felt better afterwards. Tears were magical things. They could ease a broken heart, soothe a grieving mind and touch the coldest soul.

* * *

**Author's Note:** I didn't decide on where Northvale actually is, and I have no idea whether police officers wear their names on tags, but where I come from they do. So ... But let's just make it clear that I have no idea about police work or economy, at all. *cough*


	6. Chapter 2 Part 2

**Author's Note: Oh my god I forgot Upload Friday! **Mea culpa, my friends. I completely forgot ... D: Anyways, here's the new part, and finally we're having all the Drama and the Romance! I hope the Part will make up to the slight delay. But here you go, and there are 1000 words more than usual! There might be more of those delays in the future, though, I'm afraid. I've written (much? not so much?) more in advance, but I never write three such POVs in a week, so you're slowly but certainly catching up.

This week's **music tip** is "Addicted to You" by Avicii feat. Audra Mae - my personal top on the playlist to this fic ;)

Enjoy!

* * *

_Thorin_

It was almost midnight again, he heard someone sing quietly on the corridor, and he still didn't know what to say tomorrow morning on the press conference about the theft of the Arkenstone. Or to be precise, he knew the words he would have to say, his father had given them to him, neatly printed out and folded into an envelope. But he knew he wasn't going to be able to say them. Never before had so much pressure been placed onto his shoulders.

He heard a chiming sound and patted his pockets in search of his phone. When he finally found it, he saw that he had a message from his father. Hesitantly, he opened it.

_Thorin, your grandfather is dead. Tomorrow still press conference. Sent you new speech. – Thráin_

He stared at his phone, not comprehending the words. His grandfather? Dead? But he had visited Thrór not a week ago. Yes, he was old; yes, he had some ailments. But … dead? That couldn't be. That wasn't right.

And then it hit him. His grandfather, besides Dís the only family member he actually loved, was dead. He was alone now.

Suddenly, a hand touched his shoulder and he jerked away.

"Thorin?"

He didn't see who it was, there were too many tears clouding his sight. Far away he heard the clatter of his phone hitting the desk. Again, someone called his name, but he didn't hear it, he didn't want to hear it. He wanted to cry and curl into a ball; he wanted to fall asleep and never wake up again. He was alone.

"Thorin! Can you hear me?"

A warm body, warm arms wrapped themselves around him and only then did he notice that he was trembling. The soft scent of lavender and the sharp smell of cleaning fluids filled his nose, making him laugh bitterly, even though he didn't know the joke himself. Gentle hands stroked his hair and suddenly he realised who this had to be.

_Thranduil_, he thought, and to his own surprise he embraced the body pressed against his with as much force as he dared, without hurting the other. He breathed in that lavender scent and marvelled at how safe he felt.

"What happened?"

Thorin shuddered, when warm breath caressed the side of his neck.

"My grandfather is dead," he whispered hoarsely, burying his face in cloth, skin and hair. The urge to touch filled him, though he held himself back, only placing his hands firmly on a sinewy back.

"I am sorry to hear that."

"Tomorrow I am going to have to explain to everyone how it was possible that the Arkenstone was stolen from our own vault. Me! Thorin Oakenshield, spokesman of the _Erebor Bank_. I'm a terrible speaker, always was … Only Granddad ever calmed me down. And now he is gone! How could he leave me alone with this, how could he just …" Thorin choked on his words and broke into tears again. No answer came from Thranduil, and his desperation deepened, making him want to pull back and turn his back on him, even though he knew that it would probably hurt them both. Just when he loosened his grip, Thranduil spoke.

"Tell them the truth. As bluntly as you want. Don't let anyone tell you what to say or how to say it. Do what you feel is right."

Thorin straightened himself and brushed away his tears to look at Thranduil. He was wearing his E.B. uniform again, royal blue on pale skin. He looked drained, hair dishevelled and dark rings under his piercing blue eyes. His hands still rested on Thorin's elbows, pulling slightly, because he was kneeling on the floor, his head just on level with Thorin's shoulders.

"Thank you," he mumbled and squeezed Thranduil's left hand. A weak smile appeared on the other's lips.

"Recently everyone seems to need a shoulder to cry on," he laughed lightly, though he sounded as tired as he looked.

"Who else cried?" Thorin asked surprised.

"Maggie." When he looked puzzled, Thranduil explained: "The woman who works in the grocery store with me. I had to break her heart." And then he broke into bitter laughter, tears streaming down his face, too. Now it was Thorin's turn to comfort, so he knelt on the floor as well, folding arms around neck and waist.

"What happened?" Only after he said it, he realised that Thranduil had asked the same thing only moments earlier. They both laughed.

"She confessed her love to me and I had to tell her that I didn't return her affections."

Suddenly, Thranduil seemed to collapse, coming to rest half-lying on Thorin's lap. He laughed again, and Thorin gently loosened his ponytail, stroking and untangling jumbled blond hair.

"Crazy week, huh?" Thorin murmured. "I didn't even know you a week ago. Now we're crying in each other's arms."

"Crazy …" Thranduil repeated quietly. "Who would have thought?"

Thorin sighed and leaned against the drawers of his desk. For a moment he wished time would stop. If only Thranduil stayed with him, letting him touch him, talk to him. A thought clenched around his heart, making it almost too difficult to breathe. Was he in love with Thranduil? But that was impossible, he wasn't … _interested_ in men. He looked down on his peaceful face, closed eyes, breathing deeply.

"Your heart is beating really fast," Thranduil said a bit sluggishly, as if he was falling asleep.

"I don't know what to do," Thorin whispered. "I don't know what to do."

Thranduil lifted his head and looked at him with eyes so blue, so clear and so beautiful. When he touched Thorin's cheek, he couldn't bear it any longer. He leaned forward and kissed Thranduil, both hands buried in his hair. He felt him tremble against him, but he didn't pull back, and his lips were so soft and warm against his own that he deepened the kiss. When Thranduil finally, hesitantly kissed back, Thorin felt his body melt. He distantly realised that they were lying on the floor of his office, but that didn't count, only Thranduil's hands on his shoulders and back counted, pulling him closer. They parted for a moment, drawing in breaths, but then they were kissing again, and Thorin let his lips wander, he let them explore the warm silk of the skin under Thranduil's ear, his chin, his nose, his cheek, his mouth again, his throat.

"Wait."

Thorin looked up, breathing heavily. Warmth had possessed him, a heat like he didn't know it. He knew this flame could burn him, but he would rather taste it and burn to ashes than let it die down. Thranduil's voice however shocked him like cold water.

"I can't do this," he whispered, beautiful blue eyes wide open, scared and fascinated at the same time. "I want to, but I can't. You don't know me – _I_ don't know _you_ – and I am afraid."

Thorin rested his forehead against Thranduil's and gently kissed the tip of his nose.

"There is nothing to be afraid of," he said softly and brought some space between them, but Thranduil gripped the front of his shirt.

"Don't you dare leave me alone now," he breathed, and suddenly their lips were joined again. Sweetness, softness, the scent of lavender and the touch of warm skin.

"You confuse me," Thorin murmured, when they parted, and the scared look had returned to the others' eyes.

"Let me go. You can't be close to me, you can't, I am no good, please don't," Thranduil said, words stumbling, and he sounded almost hysteric.

"I don't understand …"

"I have to go home." Thranduil all but threw Thorin off him and got to his feet, panic in his eyes. With a last long gaze he left, a nimble deer scared by the snarling wolf. Thorin tried to follow him, but he was gone.

He cursed and hit the wall with his fist, not even noticing the blood running down his knuckles.

* * *

_Thranduil_

He sat on the couch, knees drawn to his chest and trembling like dry leaves in a winter storm. He felt hot and cold at the same time, he still felt Thorin's hands and lips on his skin, and he _yearned_ for their touch. Had it only been a dream? Was he still dreaming? It had felt so real, so right – but he knew it was wrong. He liked women, he flirted with women, and he had a beautiful child from a woman. So why was he drawn to Thorin?

A tiny voice whispered of past years, sold kisses and nights, strong hands and arms he felt safe in. Hands that eventually betrayed him to those he had been fleeing from. With a muffled cry he buried his face in his hands and pushed those memories away.

After a while he threw a glance at his wristwatch and he groaned, when he saw that it was almost 2 am. And he had morning shift at the grocery store. He cursed. Why did the store open at Saturday mornings?

Trying to at least get his head clear, he quietly took a cold shower and then checked in on Legolas. The boy was sleeping soundly. Carefully Thranduil entered the child's bedroom and sat on the chair at the small desk, drawing in a deep breath. Not even Legolas' presence calmed him, so he went to sit on the couch in the living room again. His hands wanted to play something aggressive on the piano, but he knew he couldn't, or he would wake up Legolas. Frustrated, he pulled out a worn-out photo album from one of the locked drawers to which only he had the key.

_Eliza & Thranduil_ it said on the first page, and _Legolas' first year_.

He looked at the first picture. It was himself, sixteen years younger, holding a tiny baby Legolas. The grin on his face gave away his feelings of pride, joy and happiness. On the next photograph, a woman with long brown hair sat on a bench, baby Legolas on her lap. She was looking at him with awe, almost confused, as if she couldn't quite believe it. A tiny hand was reaching up, but she didn't take it. Thranduil still remembered that day. Liz had just been staring at the baby, ignoring his wishes to be hugged and carried, until Legolas began to cry. It had been Thranduil's job to calm him afterwards.

_I should have seen it_, he thought. _Even then she showed the signs._

He skipped almost half of the book, until he found his favourite photo. Legolas was broadly smiling at the camera, wielded by Liz. Two tiny teeth were to be seen in that grin. Behind him, Thranduil was lying on his side, holding a buttercup flower over Legolas' head. They had been picnicking in the park that day.

Suddenly, the light got turned on and Thranduil slammed the album shut.

"Legolas," he breathed and looked at the boy, who in turn was staring at him with large eyes.

"Is that … Dad, is that a photo album?" He swallowed and made a step towards him. "I've never seen that one before in my life."

Thranduil held the book close to his chest, thinking hard about an excuse.

"Dad," Legolas whispered and sat on the couch. He looked shocked. "Please tell me this is an album of you, and not me. Please tell me there are no photographs of my mother in there."

With dread Thranduil thought about the last pictures in the book. It would break Legolas' heart to see them. He always thought that his mother had loved him, that she died in a tragic car accident. The last pictures showed the consequences of the fact that Liz had all but loved them.

"Dad!" Legolas launched himself at him and tried to grab the book, but Thranduil was faster. He got to his feet and retreated, until he felt the wall in his back.

"I lied," he whispered, trembling, "I lied to you, Legolas. But it was to protect you. Please, believe me …"

"What did you lie about?" Legolas asked, voice deceivingly calm, and followed him.

"Sh-she didn't d-die i-in a c-car accident," Thranduil stammered, clutching the album closer.

Legolas stared at him. Nothingness, confusion, a burning intensity, all swirling in his eyes.

"Tell me. Tell me the truth."

But the words wouldn't come, and that was when he knew he had to show Legolas. So he opened the album on the last page. The first of four pictures showed him and Liz, holding baby Legolas between them. By then, Liz had cut her hair short. She didn't smile. Thranduil held the book, so that his son could see it.

"Mom," he whispered and touched the photograph. "Why isn't she smiling?"

"Look at the other pictures," Thranduil only said.

The second one was Liz, carrying a crying Legolas. Again, she didn't smile, she just held the baby at a slightly odd angle, as if she was trying to get away from him. The third one was Legolas alone. A large plaster was wrapped around his right arm. From the background it was obvious that he was in a hospital. And the fourth showed Legolas, sitting on Thranduil's lap. He, however, was lying in a sickbed. His face was green and blue, but the worst wound, the shot wound in his abdomen, wasn't visible. None of them smiled. A bright balloon hung above their heads: _Happy Birthday Legolas_. The name had been written with black marker in a wobbly script.

"What is the meaning of this? I don't understand. Did we have an accident, and she died?" Legolas looked at him, confusion written over his face.

"No. She … Liz tried to kill me … and you." He took a shaking breath. "She is still alive. In an institution for the criminally insane."

Legolas slowly sank to the floor, as if all strength had left him.

"Why?" he whispered after a while. "Why did she do it? Why didn't you tell me?"

Thranduil knelt in front of him.

"I didn't want you to know, because it would have made you feel bad. But there was no reason to her actions. She did it, because she was insane. If anything, it was my fault. I didn't see her madness – I didn't protect you."

"What happened exactly?"

Thranduil closed his eyes. The question of this night: _What happened?_

"She was depressed. She got distant. We fought and argued. I knew she wasn't happy, but I didn't know what to do. And then, one day, she snapped. She was trying to hold you down, in the bath. I … screamed at her. And then she pulled out a gun, threatened to kill you. When I tried to take you away from her, she shot at me, but she let you fall and fled." Thranduil sighed and buried his face in his hands. "I don't know who called the police, but when I woke up in the hospital, they told me that Liz had been captured. Months later she was convicted to life-long containment in a high-security facility. I never saw her again after that. And you probably want to find her, but I don't know where she is and I strongly advise against tracking her down."

For a moment they stared at each other, the one tiredly, and the other in shock. Abruptly, Legolas swallowed and looked away. He seemed to try and control himself.

"This is absurd," he said after a while. "Suddenly I have a mother – but she's a lunatic who tried to kill me. I don't know which one is better … that, or her being dead."

"I'm sorry," Thranduil whispered.

Legolas looked at him. Scared, confused, hopeful and disappointed.

"We should better go to sleep," he suddenly changed topic, and before Thranduil could reply anything, Legolas was gone.

"Oh, great. This day was just great." He buried his face in his hands, the album lying like a forgotten leaf on his lap. He looked down at it, through his fingers, looked at Liz' face. For a short second he wondered what she looked like now, but then he dismissed he thought. He would never see her again. It was best this way. Now he only had to convince Legolas of the same.

* * *

_Thorin_

He picked at the bandage over the knuckles of his right hand while he stood uncertainly in front of the grocery store. He knew that Thranduil was working again – he had seen him through the windows. But Thorin couldn't bring himself to go in and talk to him. He was afraid that he would only make things worse.

_Things?_ he thought bitterly. Two hours ago he had given his family's statement about the theft of the Arkenstone. He had read his father's text, where he also announced the death of his grandfather, without any emotions or any sign of grief. Thorin hid behind a mask of ice, hiding the turmoil of his feelings under a thick layer of steel-hard indifference. He hated himself for doing it, but else he wouldn't have been able to read the statement. And he couldn't disappoint his family, could he?

Now he found himself too hesitant to do what he had to do once more this day. He knew he had injured his beginning friendship with Thranduil by admitting his feelings. It was on him to repair what he could, for he couldn't bear losing what he had with him – whatever it was.

The lights in the shop went out and Thranduil came out, carrying two heavy looking bags. He looked as worn-out and tired as Thorin felt.

"Thranduil!" he called and approached him warily, looking for signals in the other's face, but he only set down his bags and buried his hands in the pockets of his jeans.

"Hi."

"I wanted to … apologise. Which I seem to do a lot lately." Thorin swallowed hard and averted his gaze, when Thranduil looked at him with empty eyes.

"There is nothing to apologise for," he finally said, but it was barely more than a whisper.

Thorin cleared his throat.

"So … ahem … Uh."

_I'm such an idiot, stop stammering around. Just say goodbye and leave him alone. Don't you see he doesn't want to talk to you?_

"I'll just …" He felt the heat rise to his face and abruptly turned around to walk away.

"Thorin."

He stopped and looked over his shoulder at Thranduil.

"I'm not mad at you." The blonde nervously licked his lips, face twisted in a pained expression and shuffled his feet. "I had a fight with Legolas and … I'm unsure. We never argued before. I don't know … if things will ever be as they were. And I'm afraid of that. That he will look at me as the liar I am. That he doesn't …" He paused and pressed a hand to his mouth, as if to hold back any words that could escape him.

"Do you want to talk about it?" Thorin asked hesitantly.

"No. I should go home." Thranduil threw a glance at his wristwatch and sighed.

"I'm sure everything will turn out to be fine."

"Thank you. I hope so, too."

They fell silent for a moment, awkwardly trying to avoid each other's gaze. Suddenly, Thranduil made a dismayed sound and stepped forward to take Thorin's hand.

"How did this happen? Does it hurt?" he asked and gently touched the red stained bandage.

"It's nothing," Thorin assured quickly and wanted to pull his hand back, but Thranduil held it firmly.

"You didn't have this yesterday."

Thorin didn't say anything in reply to that and only looked at the other levelly. The blonde seemed uncertain for a moment, before he suddenly turned away and lifted his bags.

"Wait a second," he murmured, went into the store again and came out only seconds later without the bags. A small smile spread on his lips and he lightly touched Thorin's elbow. "Are you hungry?"

He raised his eyebrows.

"I am, but … What about your son?"

"He went over to his friend's house. Originally, I wanted to use this afternoon as an opportunity to finally clean all the windows, but I'm too tired for that."

"Well, in that case, where do you want to go?" Thorin asked, now smiling as well.

* * *

**Author's Note: **Darn, almost forgot in my haste to post: tar (guest), thank you so much for your support! I would have answered to your review in a PM, but here you go. It is a relief that you like it, and I'm definitely going to continue this story. Just the _how_ and _when_ I will finish it - that's the question ;) Thanks for reading and reviewing! 3


	7. Chapter 2 Part 3

**Author's Note: Upload Friday**, and again I want to thank everyone who has been reading this silly little thing. Or not so little *cough* We're having some more drama this time, but also a little fun and romance - and Thráin being a pain in the butt xD As always, I'm happy about reviews (do you like where this is going? What do you even think where this is going? Do you want more/less *insert whatever*?). Because I can be quite self-conscious about my stories. I need a little assurance from time to time :P

Anyway, enjoy!

* * *

_Thranduil_

The dull buzz of conversation flowed around them like a warm summer breeze, counterpointed by soft music. He felt comfortable, warm and relaxed. Apparently Thorin felt alike, because he was leaning back in his seat and looked out of the window and out onto the street with a content, almost dreamy look.

"What are you thinking?" Thranduil asked softly, not wanting to disturb the other's mind.

"I'm happy," he replied with a little smile, still not turning to him. "Right here, right now. No one wants anything from me. No urgent phone calls. No sorrows. It's just you and me."

Thranduil smiled as well, having thought something similar. He stretched his arms and undid the hair tie to run his fingers through his hair. Resting his elbows on the table he removed a few knots and was about to tie it back into a ponytail, when suddenly a hand gently caught his wrist.

"Don't. It looks good like this."

Surprised, he met Thorin's gaze and then laughed quietly.

"I look like a girl."

"No, you don't." Thorin sounded disbelieving. "Why would you think that?"

"You wouldn't believe how many times men tried to hit on me when I wore my hair open."

"Why do you even have long hair, then?" Thorin asked grinning.

"Oh, it's kind of a family tradition. My father used to have long hair, too." Thranduil frowned at the memory of his father, Oropher Greenleaf, who had been a soldier in the army and died in Afghanistan in 2001. Not too long ago, one might think, but father and son had broken ties when Thranduil had been 18 and at the lowest point of his life. The last words he ever said to Oropher, on the eve before he went to Afghanistan, had been a desperate attempt to keep him from the battlefield. But as always, Oropher didn't listen and didn't change his mind. Which eventually got him killed.

"Thranduil?"

He looked up from his hands and tried to smile, but he knew it was a futile attempt.

"Legolas seems to catch up to that tradition," he said lightly, but then he only remembered how he and Legolas had parted this morning, and his mood dropped even lower.

"Bad memories, huh? Well, I know how that feels."

"What do you mean?"

Thorin sighed and rubbed his chin.

"I don't know about your relationship with your dad, but I've never been really close with mine. I was his firstborn, so he had expectations. Just too bad I didn't live up to them."

"But … You're working in the family business. You're successful. What more does he want?" Now Thranduil was confused.

"He wanted a son like him. I have too much of a conscience to survive in the shark pool of the financial market. _Erebor Bank _isn't the only bank with a cutthroat policy. You need to be ready to shoot to kill in order to achieve something. I'm not such a person."

"Well, you are who you are," Thranduil said. "I disappointed my father with my _actions_, which isn't much better."

"What did you do?"

He sighed.

"I dropped school when I was sixteen to be a professional pianist and singer. But of course that didn't work out, as you see." He spread his hands and laughed bitterly. "I got into a vicious circle with bad people. I owed the wrong people money and made quite a few enemies. And somehow I managed to slip into drug dealing – of course becoming an addict myself in the process – and ended up broke, damaged, with no prospect of a good future, and in rehab at the age of nineteen. That was when my father stopped talking to me."

Thorin's eyebrows rose almost up to his hairline.

"Wow. I would never have thought."

"And that's not the end of the story, I'm afraid. In rehab I met Eliza Collins, just eighteen herself, with a very similar story behind her. We helped each other to stay clean, and when we were released we moved into an apartment together, desperately trying to keep up some semblance of a normal life." Thranduil leaned back and sighed again. "One year later she gave birth to Legolas."

Thorin made a choking sound.

"Whoa." He made big eyes, blanching a little. "And what happened then? Didn't Eliza stay with you?"

Now or never. Thorin didn't know about Liz or what he told everyone who had asked him before. He didn't know the story about the car accident – so here was his change to tell the truth. Thranduil swallowed hard.

"When Legolas was one year old, she tried to drown him. When I saw her holding him down, she shot at me. The police eventually caught her and she was convicted to life-long containment in an asylum. I assume she is still there, but I never saw her again." He breathed out, and it felt like the lightest breath in fifteen years. A great weight had been lifted from his shoulders. Thorin stared at him with his mouth hanging open.

"This is … unbelievable. I mean – of course I believe you, but …"

Thranduil nodded sadly.

"Well, actually Liz is just the reason why Legolas hates me nowadays. I lied to him about her. I told him she died in a car accident – to spare him the guilt and shame of a mother who tried to kill him."

The other man released a huff and rubbed his face with both hands.

"I see."

Thranduil laughed joylessly and leaned on his elbows he placed on the table. They fell into a comfortable silence once more, looking at everything about each other and nothing in particular. After a while Thranduil noticed that their hands were touching, and without thinking he entwined his fingers with Thorin's.

"You know, about the other night …" Thorin began hesitantly.

"I'm sorry I just walked away," Thranduil interrupted him. "It's not … I didn't mean to … It wasn't because of the kiss. I was just overwhelmed and …"

"Afraid?" Thorin completed the sentence, when he paused.

"Yes."

Thorin swallowed hard, his cheeks reddening.

"I don't want you to think that I'm that kind of guy who just … I don't know. I want you to know that I really care about you and I want to get to know you better."

For a second Thranduil didn't know what to say. He felt like he was standing at the edge of a cliff and he could either jump and trust that somehow he would reach the ground safely, or he could step back. But then he would have to live with the feeling of having missed something really great and amazing. What to say? What to do?

"I do, too," he said then, his voice rough with emotions. "Care about you. And I want to get to know you too."

Thorin smiled then, making him feel his own heartbeat, hear it like drums. He clasped Thranduil's hand and gently squeezed it, stroking the soft skin of his wrist with his thumb. They looked at each other like they just now realised who was sitting across of the table, as if they had just discovered a wonder.

* * *

_Legolas_

He sat with Tauriel on the couch, munching popcorn, while some movie flickered over the TV-screen. He hadn't been paying attention for about ten minutes now, lost in his own thoughts. Thoughts about his father, his mother, and really just his whole life. His dad had lied to him all this time. His mother lived. His mother had tried to kill them. His dad had lied.

"Hey!"

He jumped and looked at Tauriel, who was shaking his arm, a large frown on her face.

"Yeah?" he murmured weakly.

"I just had the heart attack of my life," she pointed at the TV, "and you didn't even bat an eye. What's wrong? You've been quiet the whole time."

He sighed and looked at his knees.

"I don't want to talk about it."

"Perhaps that's just why you should tell me," she urged him and slid closer, placing one arm around his shoulders, though it proved to be more difficult than it used to, because he was a lot taller than her now. He felt tears well up in his eyes. Tauriel had been his best friend ever since he and his dad moved to Northvale. He and Tauriel had been about four years old then. Now they were both sixteen and so much had changed, yet they were still friends.

"My dad lied to me," he finally croaked. "About my mom. She didn't die in a car accident."

"_What_?" Tauriel sat more erect and leaned forward to be able to look directly into his eyes.

"Yeah. Apparently … When I was just one year old she kind of … snapped, I suppose. She tried to kill me and my dad. She's in an asylum now. Or at least that's what my dad told me last night." He laughed bitterly. "How can I be sure that this is the truth? He lied to me my whole life. Why should he tell me the truth now?"

"Because he's your dad … And he loves you." She squeezed his shoulder. "You know that, right?"

"Yeah, sure." Legolas snorted and felt a spark of anger in his heart. His dad _lied_ to him about the thing that mattered most to him: his mother. The woman that gave birth to him, the woman that he loved, even though he had no memory of her. He felt his tears run down his face, and when Tauriel reached to wipe them away he rose and angrily hit his cheeks with his hands.

"Las …"

"I think I want to go home." He saw the confused, hurt and yet understanding look in her eyes when she followed him to the door and handed him his sweater.

"Mind if I accompany you to the crossway?"

"Sure."

Tauriel got her own jacket, called out to her parents that she was going out and then followed Legolas out of the house and onto the street. He buried his hands in the pockets of his jeans and slowly walked into the direction of his home. Tauriel didn't say a word, and he was grateful for it. He didn't think he could handle pity or whatever else she felt for him right now.

Suddenly, he heard a familiar voice and stopped abruptly. He couldn't believe his eyes, and apparently Tauriel couldn't either. There stood his father, half-leaning against his bike – and he was talking to Thorin Oakenshield.

"What the hell?" He and Tauriel exchanged a look.

He hid behind the trunk of a tree and peeked around it to look at the strange scene in front of him.

"He wears his hair open," he murmured, half to himself, but Tauriel made a questioning sound. "He never wears his hair open."

It looked beautiful, really – gleaming like molten gold in the sunlight. But that wasn't the only strange thing. He knew that sometimes – when he had been younger and didn't really understand what was happening – his dad would date women, and then he seemed to behave strangely, not like his dad at all. And right now he saw those tiny little signs, a nonchalant tip of the head, a curl of the finger, a slide of the foot, all aiming to charm. And charm Thranduil could.

"What are they saying?"

"We could get closer," Legolas whispered back, took Tauriel's hand and pulled her forward, to the next tree.

"… of course, I'm not an expert," Thorin said with a small laugh.

"Better to ask anyone than to despair." Legolas thought that his dad's usually brilliant, shining voice sounded darker and heavier than usual. Dragged down by a weight.

There was a short silence, where they could see Thorin avert his gaze, as if he was embarrassed, and Legolas' father stretched his back a little, as if to compensate the lack of confidence. Their words had ceased to flow, but instead their bodies communicated.

"Las?" Tauriel whispered. "Is your dad gay? Just a little bit?"

"What? No!" he hissed back, but a small voice in his head said: _You just observed yourself that your dad is interested in this man. Don't lie to yourself._

"Well, I don't know anything about being a father … But no quarrel is worth risking one's children's love," Thorin broke the silence, and Legolas felt a slight tingle on his skin. Were they talking about him? "I only have nephews, and they can be pretty pesky at times, but I love them none the less."

"Of course I love Legolas. I would do anything for him," now his father said, almost despairing. "But in trying to protect him I hurt him even more. And there is nothing that can make up to that."

He heard Thorin sigh.

"Whatever you do, I am sure it will be the right thing."

A bitter, short laugh from Thranduil.

"As if I had proven to do the right thing in the past. You don't know how many times I screwed up everything good in my life. And right now Legolas is the only good thing I have."

He heard his dad's beautiful voice break at the end and felt a sting in his heart. He wanted to run to him, hug him and break into tears, tell him that he loved him too, but his feet were rooted to the ground, held by a tiny spark of anger. When he looked up again – when had he started staring at the ground? – he saw Thorin embracing his father, and the spark lit up to a fire. How dare this stranger comfort him? How could his father have feelings for this stupid nob, talking pretty words and all the while only playing with his affections?

Angrily, Legolas took Tauriel's hand and turned away.

"Can I stay over at your house? We could sleep in the tree house," he asked. She looked at him with big, confused eyes, but she was loyal – she had always been his best friend.

"Of course you can."

"You're the best."

* * *

_Thorin_

He felt as light as a feather and as warm as he had just been taking a long, hot bath or basked in the sun for hours. He knew that his face was probably red as a tomato and he couldn't get that grin off his face, but he didn't care anyway. Luckily, his driver didn't make any comments and just dropped him off at the Oakenshield Manor. It was still weekend and he intended to enjoy his free time as much as he could.

"I'm back!" he called when he entered and handed his jacket to Nadia. "Thank you."

There was noise coming from the kitchen, and knowing his sister, who usually relieved stress by baking, he went there first to greet her.

"Hey little sister," he said affectionately and smiled, when he saw the mess of flour, chocolate, egg shells and dough. Dís looked a little dishevelled, her long brown hair bound to a bun, but several strands had fallen out. She wore an apron, but he could see that her jeans and sweater were covered with stains anyway. She turned and looked at him, flour on her face and paste sticking to her hands.

"Thorin," she said a little breathlessly. "You're home."

"Apparently, yes."

"Where have you been, anyway? You just disappeared after that press conference." She looked around the kitchen, confusion written all over her face.

"Are you looking for something?" he asked and carefully stepped into the lion's den.

"Marzipan. Ah, here it is." She put some into a bowl and threw a gaze at him over her shoulder. "Now, you look happy. And that after this disaster with the diamond and …" She swallowed.

"Granddad. I know." His mood immediately dropped. Now he understood why his sister was stress-baking.

Somewhere a kitchen clock ringed and Dís jumped.

"Take the muffins out of the oven, would you?"

Thorin grabbed a kitchen towel, opened the oven and quickly pulled out the baking tray. The warm, familiar smell of muffins surrounded him and he breathed in.

"You are wonderful, do you know that?" he said lovingly and hugged his sister around her waist, not caring about the stains. She laughed and turned in his arms.

"Tell me why you are grinning like an idiot and you'll get a muffin before dinner."

"Two?"

"Very well, two muffins."

Thorin grinned and pressed a quick kiss to her forehead. But as happy as he was about lunch with Thranduil, he wasn't ready to talk about it to his family. So he jumped away from her, grabbed two muffins and bit into one while fleeing out of the kitchen. Dís only cried and called his name, but he heard her laugh until he was in his room. At least he had managed to lift her mood a bit.

He sat on his bed, threw his shoes off his feet and licked his fingers when he finished the first muffin. He placed the second deliciousness on his bedside table and let himself fall onto his back. The soft covers felt cool against his hot face and hands, and he couldn't help but think about how Thranduil's hands would feel against his skin. How it would be to have him lying here, beside him.

A sudden knock at his door pulled him out of his daydreams.

"Yes, yes, I heard you!" he shouted, when the knocking grew louder and faster. Thorin pulled the door open and almost jumped back when he saw his father stand only inches from him.

"Thorin."

"Dad."

Thráin had a deep crease between his eyebrows and slowly smoothed down his perfectly tailored suit, even though the pitch black cloth wasn't disturbed.

"I just wanted to tell you that I will be having dinner with you tonight."

Thorin blinked a few times and nodded. He was confused. Why would his father inform him about this?

"Good."

"I also heard that you had been out today." Thráin forced a smile on his thin lips. "I hope she was more after your taste than the women I tried to make you acquainted with."

And at this Thorin couldn't help himself. The laughter built in his chest up and left his mouth in an explosive cry of mirth. Thráin's expression after that didn't help him to regain his composure, and after only a few seconds he felt tears run down his cheeks and he had to hold his sides.

_She!_ he thought. _She! Oh, I would love to see my father's face when he meets Thranduil. They would claw out each other's eyes._

"What is so funny?" Thráin asked irritated.

"Oh, father, why would you care about my private life?" Thorin asked after a few deep breaths, wiping away his tears.

"I am interested in continuing the line of succession, Thorin."

His laughter immediately died down.

"What did you just say?"

"I think you heard me quite well," Thráin growled.

"So you just want me to _breed_?" he said incredulously. "Just ask yourself what is more important. The bloody company or your own family. Oh, wait, I already know the answer."

He gripped his door and slammed it shut into Thráin's face. He heard the older man curse on the other side of the door, but he knew that Thráin would never open it again and try to explain himself. There had never been the slightest doubt about where his priorities lay. The fact that he knew he was right made Thorin just angrier.

"I'm looking forward to dinner," he murmured under his breath and let himself fall onto the bed again, trying to find comfort in the cool and soft blankets.


End file.
